


another light

by bluhen



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Dynamics, Gen, bluhen drags his 2 emo best friends everywhere and forces them to have lives, debateable cielain. god, what happens next will shock you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluhen/pseuds/bluhen
Summary: collection of ain-centric works/mostly drabbles taking place in a modern au. more characters may appear later, however it will likely remain gen.latest: bluhen got drunk. oops.





	1. three (ee, l:w)

**Author's Note:**

> all of these take place in my modern au... thing, which you can read about so stuff will hopefully make sense [here.](https://longingfreesia.tumblr.com/post/179888248417/okok-so-heres-a-hopefully-comprehensive-post) it's very light and self-indulgent, i'm just having fun here. my boyfriend called ains paths "a horrible sitcom" and thats just what this is  
> first chapter; erbluhen visits wanderer where he's being taken care of.

The house is too quiet, this time. Usually, at least one other person is staying with Wanderer to look after him, but now… Erbluhen's footsteps echo through the halls as he makes his way to Wanderer's room. He knows the way by heart by now.

He knocks gently on the door, and hears Wanderer squeak anyway. He takes a soft ‘come in’ as a cue to do just that.

“Good evening, Wanderer! I hope you’re doing well!” Erbluhen hums, swinging his arms behind his back.

“Ah, I’m doing fine…! What brings you to come here?”

“Nothing at all. I just wanted to visit.”

“Oh, well… Th… Thank you for coming to see me.” Wanderer says, voice subdued, as if he feels he shouldn’t be speaking at all.

“It’s nothing, really.” responds Erbluhen, placing the cookie tray he was holding on the bedside table next to him. “These are the kind you like, right? You mentioned them last time I came.”

Wanderer's eyes go wide. “Y-You actually got me some?”

“Of course! If it would make you happy, I’d do anything.”

“Ah…” Wanderer looks as if he was going to say something else, but he hides his sudden bashfulness by staring down at his lap and hiding his face.

“Can I… have these now?” Wanderer asks, and Erbluhen nods with a smile. Wanderer seems excited to have something sweet. He pops it open and marvels at the delicacies inside.

“These are really for me?”

Erbluhen nods again. It’s almost cute, seeing how excited he is. Wanderer takes one out and nibbles on it pensively.

“Your hair is getting longer. Is the braid new?” Erbluhen asks.

“Yes! Um, I did it by myself. So I don’t know if it looks good or not…” Wanderer nods, more excitedly than Erbluhen has seen him in a while. It makes a smile come to his face on a wave of warmth.

“It looks lovely. It suits you.”

“...Thank you.” Wanderer says, shrinking in on himself shyly as he finishes off the sweet in his hand.

Erbluhen decides now is as good a time as ever to ask.

“Has Arme come by recently?” Erbluhen asks, and suddenly Wanderer's expression goes dark.

“N… No. He used to, but… not anymore…” Wanderer squeezes the bedsheets in his fists. “I think Ishmael is mad at me. So he is too.”

“Oh, Wanderer… That isn’t true. She could never be upset with us.”

“But… Arme is her favorite. Everyone knows that. Of course he would be upset with me if she was. Plus…” Wanderer sighs. “He changed recently. He didn’t want to talk to me when he last visited, just came, asked me if everything was okay, and left after staying with me for a bit. He didn’t try to have a conversation with me at all.”

Erbluhen hums. “That doesn’t seem right… Why would she be upset? It doesn’t make any sense… So I’m sure she’s not.”

Wanderer fidgets, but he eventually nods slowly, and Erbluhen is satisfied. In reality, he was perfectly aware of a reason Ishmael might be upset with Wandererーor at least why Arme wouldn’t come by anymore. It likely has quite a bit to do with what hides underneath the bandages covering Wanderer's face and arms. In any case, it’s irrelevantーif Arme won’t visit, then Erbluhen would.

It’d be cruel to leave the other all alone, wouldn’t it? Wanderer takes the tray in his hands and offers it to Erbluhen.

“Share it with me.”

“Hm? Oh, but they’re for you!”

“N-No, I... It’d make me happy if you had some too.”

Erbluhen blinks, then takes a cookie from the tray and giggles. “You’re even sweeter than these, y’know?”

Wanderer's eyes widen once again, and he vigorously shakes his head. “No…! It’s just… I like it when you smile.”

The sentiment brings that very thing to Erbluhen's face. “I like yours very much, too.” He beams.

Wanderer seems happier than Erbluhen has seen him in a very long time. His eyes soften watching Wanderer eat.

It’s nice, seeing the other boy this content and smiling. He can only hope this warmth will stay with him. He worries greatly for the futureーthe… stuff covering patches of Wanderer's skin seems only to spread by the day. He just wants to make him as happy as he can before things get worse.

Maybe he should pay Ishmael a visit sometime soon.


	2. ten (bl, he, ri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bluhen calls herrscher and richter to go to one of his favorite cafes with them.

“Oh, it’s almost time!” Bluhen looks up from his phone and smiles brightly at Herrscher. (of course, his smile was always bright, to him.)

Herrscher cocks his head. Asking was too much energy, and he knew Bluhen would catch on, which he does. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll see.”

Herrscher looks back down to the table, idly tapping his fingers. His usual black sweater is too hot, he finds, but like hell he’s ever going out in anything else. He couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the weather, eitherーnot like it mattered, since he wore the same thing every day. He idly wishes he'd brought his headphones.

His gaze drifts up to Bluhen once again. He always had something nice on when he went out. He had no idea how he found the energy for it, dressing up. He fit right in at such a cutesy-feeling cafe as this one.

“There he is!” Bluhen's entire presence jingles from the jewelry and his mere presence as he waves. ‘He’? Wait, no. _No_. He wouldn’t have.

Herrscher looks to where Bluhen was waving, and realizes that yes, in fact, he _would_. A mop of bright blue hair stares back at him with the same disdainful look he can feel on his own face. He guesses they took around the same time to notice each other.

Richter walks to their table, sitting down and placing a bag next to his chair with entirely calculated, rigid movements. It’s _gross_. Bluhen beams.

“I’m so glad you could show up!” He chimes, and Richter nods.

“You did not tell me… _he_ would be here as well.”

Bluhen lightly smacks Richter's arm. “Oh, don’t be like that! I know you two can enjoy a nice lunch without it being ruined by the other just being there.”

Richter hums, as if he wanted to say something but refrained. Good, he never had anything good to say. Herrscher, however...

Herrscher had no qualms about making a scene, butーno, specifically _because_ , he knew that Richter would have a _fit_. He _hated_ public misbehavior. Herrscher, and likely Bluhen, by extension, wouldn’t hear the end of his whining for weeks. He almost cracks a smile at the thought.

The sentiment fades, though, when he remembers that Bluhen, too, would be upset. Not in the scolding way Richter would, but rather humiliated, and he’d probably cry… So doing something about Richter's presence was out of the question.

He opts to completely ignore said presence, instead. He can practically feel the annoyance anyway, since he knows Herrscher's refusal to acknowledge him pisses him off too, just not enough to make a big deal out of it. Perfect.

Bluhen waves over a waitress, and Herrscher is lightly amused at how visibly nervous she gets at the tension around their table. Bluhen knows by now that if he asked what the other two wanted, he’d only get a resounding ‘I don’t care.’ So, he orders for all three of them, and thanks the waitress when she leaves.

“So! That shouldn’t take too long, right? I’m paying, so don’t worry about it.” Bluhen reassures.

Richter seems concerned. “Are you sure you can afford meals for three? Have you been watching that well enough? I know you have a tendency to forget.”

Bluhen laughs. “Of course it’s fine! Ohh, I got a gig modeling for a while at this studio down at… Oh, what’s the street, I’m not sure if you’ve been down there… In any case, they say I’m very ‘cute!' I like the dresses they’ve made, and they’ve paid me recently.”

Richter hums again. “As long as you’re certain. I’ll help, if it ends up being too much.” At this, Bluhen's smile shines as it always does.

“You’re so sweet, Richter!”

Herrscher hopes they can both _feel_ his glare. Bluhen turns to him.

“Oh, Herrsch! Do you like tiramisu? I ordered it for you, ‘cos I know you like coffee, but I forget if you like sweets, so…”

Herrscher nods, slowly. “I like them.” He enjoys the smile Bluhen gives him.

“That’s good, then! Ah, while I’m at it, how have you been doing lately? I haven’t had much of a chance to visit, I’m sorry.”

Herrscher gives a flat “It’s fine,” then sighs inwardly. If it were just the two of them, he would tell the truth, but _he’s_ here, too. If Richter caught wind of his condition further than the obvious and what he already knew… God, he didn’t know _what_ he’d do. Probably try to forcibly drag him out to church or to see Ishmael. Fuck that.

“...I’m doing fine. Don’t worry about me.” That worked, right? Bluhen always was exceptionally good at seeing through his lies, however, and stares him down. Herrscher only returns the look and hopes Bluhen gets the idea that he’s not spilling _anything_ while Mr. Priest was here.

Bluhen sighs, resting his cheek in his hand. “Alright, that’s good.” Herrscher can tell he got the idea, and that he hasn’t heard the end of this. Bluhen starts up again.

“Richter has been busy lately, hasn’t he?” He asks, to no one in particular as a cue.

Richter shuffles awkwardly. Herrscher relishes in it. “Is that really important…?”

“Yes! Tell me more about it, didn’t you get a promotion or something big like that?”

Richter pauses. Then, “I am working to be a pastor, you know this.”

Bluhen claps his hands together. “Oh, right, _that’s_ it! Sorry for forgetting.”

Richter makes the same hum, (god, can he just _say_ something?) and says, “Don’t be sorry. Either way, it’s not your business, so I wouldn’t expect you to keep up with it.”

Right, Richter's stupid goddess, his stupid church, his stupid, fucking, sermons that Bluhen still attended occasionally for some godforsaken reason. Right, whatever, ‘he expects me to come! It’s only every now and then,’ sure, but how did he _stand_ them? Herrscher vaguely remembered a few sermons from when he was a child, and how agonizing they were, if Richter was giving them they could only be even worse.

Then again, Ishmael's _favorite_ could only be terrible to Herrscher, so there wasn’t much use in trying to find reasoning with it.

Bluhen chatters away with Richter about modeling, about new foods, about anything and everything, as he is prone to do. Herrscher watches him, his smiles, his laughter. He finds himself idly wishing he could be that expressive.

Soon enough, the waitress returns, balancing three plates, and places them each in front of them. Bluhen thanks her once again, grinning all the while. He turns to Herrscher after what seems like an eternity of all of his attention being on Richter.

“This is what I was talking about earlier! Here, try it.” He says this, and promptly leans forward a bit to take his fork and scoop up a piece of it. As Bluhen holds it in front of his face, Herrscher feels very embarrassedーbut he knows that it’s because _Bluhen_ knows that he won’t eat it if he’s not forced. And, unfortunately for him, a bit of shame was just enough shove.

He opens his mouth, hoping beyond hope Richter is ignoring him. He doesn’t need his shit right now. Bluhen smiles as he feeds Herrscher, and, seemingly satisfied, relinquishes the fork back to him. When he chances a glance at Richter, he simply seems annoyed with the embarrassing public display. That’s fine enough. He decides, suddenly, that if it annoys Richter, it’s worth it to be embarrassed for a bit.

Bluhen's endless chatter is quieted by food, and while it’s not a bad thing, Herrscher misses the sound. Especially with Richter around. Bluhen talking worked as a distraction from his presence, but without it, the silence was anything but comfortable.

After a while, Richter abruptly picks up his bag and slings it around his shoulder again.

“I’ve got somewhere to be. I’m sorry, Bluhen.” Richter says, before standing up. Herrscher notes how he only addressed Bluhen.

Bluhen looks a bit like a kicked puppy. “Oh, alright. See you, then! Call me when you get where you’re going, okay?”

Richter nods, and leaves. Didn’t he say he would help pay? Jackass.

Bluhen watches him leave, then turns to Herrscher. “So, what’s wrong?”

“You could tell.” says Herrscher, as if Bluhen couldn’t always tell.

“Of course. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Mm. Eating’s been… bad lately.” He starts. “I think this is the most I’ve had in days.”

Bluhen frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He knows better by now than to.

“Because of that, I guess… I haven’t left the house in a while.”

Bluhen's face has that unreadable look on it. Herrscher doesn’t like it. “What about your classes?”

“You know I’m failing them all anyway. I figure it doesn’t matter.”

“Then we’re studying together tonight.”

“Bluhen…”

“And that’s final!” Bluhen says firmly, with all the attitude someone who looks like a fluffy blanket can muster.

Herrscher cracks a smile, his first and likely only of the day. “Alright. So I’m assuming you’re coming home with me?”

“Yes! And I’m cooking, too, so we’re going shopping.” Bluhen has that air about him that means he’s absolutely determined. Herrscher likes this better. The smile stays.

“Fine with me,” he says, although he’d really rather not go anywhere else today, one place was enough, it was worth it for Bluhen.

They wait for the waitress to come by again so Bluhen can pay. Herrscher spends the time simply watching him talk. He isn’t one to talk much himself, but Bluhen is the polar opposite, and it’s… pleasant, sometimes.

As soon as he’s paid, Bluhen grabs Herrscher's wrist and pulls him out of his chair and to his car.

He supposes they’re going shopping, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small note - when herrscher's headphones are referred to, it means noise-cancelling headphones to prevent sensory overload. he almost always wears them when he goes out, but in this particular scenario he thought it might be rude for the cafe workers if he had to order or something.


	3. four (ee, ath)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief conversation, or perhaps an argument

“I want to talk to you,” says Erbluhen, upon settling into Arme's room.

It always bothered Arme a bit how he always seemed to fit himself into Arme's space as if he lived there. He ignores it for now. “What about?”

Erbluhen fidgets with his hands. Bad sign. “...Apos.”

Arme winces. He wonders if Erbluhen sees his scowl.

“What about him.”

“Just…! Can’t you come visit every now and then?”

“No.”

“Please! It would mean a lot to him, I think… we miss seeing you. He always seemed so happy when you came by when we were younger.”

“I don’t care.”

Erbluhen's face scrunches up. “You know the state Apos is in now… How can you just leave him like that and not care a bit?”

“It’s his own fault for abandoning her.”

“He did not _abandon_ her!” Erbluhen cries. He looks on the verge of tears. “I don’t understand! You used to care about him so much, just like me!”

Arme flinches a bit at seeing Erbluhen's face so heated. It’s not often that he gets angry, and much less that he raises his voice. He also knows that Erbluhen tends to cry when he’s angry…

He sighs. “I have no obligation to take care of him. You can choose to do it, but I won’t trouble myself with someone who has no concern for me in turn.” It almost pained him to say it, but he shoves it down. The part of him that still remembers when they were younger, and Apos was a shaking mess, and Arme confused and distressed by the world around him, only finding solace in Ishmaels embrace… that part of him still felt like this was cruel of him.

The Arme of the present knew this was foolish, however. He still can’t look the tearful Erbluhen in the eyes.

“He’s our family, isn’t he?” Erbluhen's voice sounds weaker. “Don’t you still love him? I don’t understand…”

“He is still family, yes. And I have no obligation to care for him like such.”

Erbluhen curls his hands into fists. “You can’t just say that…”

“Does he care for _me_ like family?” Arme asks.

He is answered by nothing but silence. Erbluhen has started to cry. He rubs at his eyes.

“It hurts me to see you two like this, y’know.”

Arme shrugs. It didn’t matter to him. ...Or, that’s what he thought, but his chest constricted at seeing Erbluhen cry like this, especially over him.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to act like you actually care if he lives or dies.”

“Of course I care if something happens to him.”

“Then _act_ like it, Arme!”

“Do I not?” He says, real pause in his voice. As if he wasn’t truly sure.

“No! You, you act like if he just up and disappeared you wouldn’t give a damn.”

“Of course I wouldー”

“He talks aboutー” Erbluhen interrupts him, then stops abruptly.

“He talks about what.”

Erbluhen worries his lip. “...You’re family, so I’ll tell you. He talks about that. If he just disappeared. Or… worse things. Like if he, if he didn’t disappear, if he…” Erbluhen's hands tighten further. Arme gets the idea (for once.)

“Why is this my concern?” He says, past the sinking stone in his stomach.

Erbluhen's head jerks up. He appears to be crying again. He had to admit… the idea of Apostasia offing himself made raw terror rip through his body. As much as the two had become estranged, death was the most horrifying thing in the world to Arme.

Erbluhen isn’t speaking again. Arme finally speaks up. “If his condition is that bad, then I’ll go.”

Erbluhen sniffles. “...Really?”

“Yes. As long as you’re there with us,” he adds. Erbluhen nods eagerly.

Arme sighs. It was time to prepare for a likely very weighted visit.


	4. nine (bl, he, ri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's come to a compromise

He should've known things would end up like this, with Bluhen inviting them both over to stay the night. Things had been mostly fine thus far, but without Bluhen around to stabilize themー

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I don’t want _anything_ from you, and I never will.”

“I hope you choke.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“Can I _please_ at least get dressed before you two start this?” comes Bluhen’s sleepy-sounding voice from somewhere around the living room. Right, he had slept on the couch last night.

Shit, he was awake? How much did he hear? Either way, he was probably already upset… It's not long before a mess of curly hair peeks in around the doorway.

Richter is the first to speak. “I'm sorry, Bluhen. I didn't intend to be so harsh, especially not to our family.” Herrscher scoffs audibly. Richter shoots him a fast glare. “Please excuse us.”

Bluhen yawns. “You don't have to talk so formal to me… We grew up together, silly.” He half-mumbles. Richter gains a confused expression. Herrscher may not care much for him, but growing up together with him along with Bluhen means he knows that Richter can't help it. He's not good at speaking already, but being casual or familiar was near impossible. He feels a bit sympathetic. Ugh.

Bluhen stretches as he yawns again. Herrscher notices he slept in an oversized t-shirt instead of pajamas. He doesn't think he recognizes this one… And it doesn't seem the type of thing he'd buy. A phoru…? Ah, it wasn't his business. “Do you two want breakfast?”

Richter nods. “Yes, that would be lovely.” Herrscher feels a bit annoyed that he answered for them both, but it didn't matter. His answer was the same as his anyway.

Bluhen gives a sleepy smile. “Alright. Go ahead and sit down or get comfortable or whatever. It shouldn't take long.”

Richter nods for the both of them again, and follows up on the instruction promptly. Everything about him is so prim and proper. It's nine o'clock in the morning, dear god, does he have to be like this so early? Herrscher opts not to sit down, rather to lean against the wall where he could see most of the house. The silence is mostly comfortable.

That is, until Richter breaks it. “I need to discuss something with you.”

“What?” Herrscher’s attention along with his gaze is drawn to Richter. He holds the coffee mug he'd been making earlier. He doesn't know how Richter stands the stuff.

Richter taps the mug in his hands one, two, three times, then actually picks it up. “I’m sure you already know by now that Bluhen does not appreciate how we… act.”

“‘Appreciate’ is a weak word for it.”

Richter scowls. “I don’t need your attitude. In any case, I don’t…” His face scrunches up in the way it does when he’s frustrated and trying to figure it out. “...want to upset him any further.”

“And?”

“I am suggesting… we put aside our differences. Or at least attempt to.”

Herrscher scoffs. “Are you willing to stop harassing me whenever I don’t kiss Ishmael’s feet?”

Richter’s grip on the glass tightens. A small impulsive motion only those who'd been around him for years would be able to notice. “Do not speak of Mother in that way,” he hisses. Herrscher only rolls his eyes, not acknowledging him.

Richter takes a breath, composing himself. “Are you willing to compromise with me, here?” He sighs softly. “If not for any reason other than Bluhen’s sake.”

Herrscher mulls over it for a moment. It was true that despite how much Richter annoyed him, Bluhen _did_ get rather upset when they fought. He always pleaded with them to cut it out, and who knows what he asked of Richter when Herrscher wasn’t around. If he told him aboutーWell, whatever.

He didn’t like when Bluhen was upset. (he was all he had, after all. when his sun went out, what was left for him?) He nods with a soft grunt.

“Fine. For him, not for you.” he adds.

“That’s alright by me. Just as long as Bluhen is happy.” With this, Richter stands up, and makes to leave. Herrscher didn’t care where he was going, didn’t bother to watch. He supposes, though, that he should find Bluhen. (truthfully, he was the only one who knew how to cook, and… he’d probably like it if he ate today.)

It takes him a good few minutes to drag himself up out of his thoughts to go look for him. He finds him half-passed out strewn across the couch. Did he not make it to the kitchen? He must not have slept well after all, since he wasn’t in bed… He feels somewhat guilty about it, but Bluhen had insisted. He sits down next to him and gently nudges him.

“Mmh?” Bluhen mumbles before sitting up, albeit immediately drooping onto Herrscher’s shoulder once he’s upright. He’s still sleepy… “Whassit?”

“...Breakfast. Looks like Richter left, as well.”

Bluhen yawns. “Ooh, yeah… Yeah, I saw him go out the door, but I wasn’t really… conscious… to say goodbye. He was probably going to work or somethin’.” he waves his hands around lightly as he speaks. Herrscher knew it was the way he did when he was trying very hard to communicate his thoughts (and failing). He usually tries to reassure him that he’s understandable, but he stays frustrated anyway. He feels Bluhen’s arms wrap around him in a sleepy hug.

“...What’s this for?”

“‘s not _for_ anything. You’re just warm and I like you.” He nuzzles into him. “And, I’m still sleepy… I wanna sleep on you…”

Herrscher, thinking about it honestly, didn’t mind that idea too much. But, still, he should probably confirm… Bluhen has responsibilities, right? (did he, actually…?)

“You don’t have anything you need to take care of?”

Bluhen hums. “Nooo... At least I don’t think so… ‘s probably not important if I do, anyway.”

“...Alright.” Herrscher assures, and Bluhen drops into his lap. Herrscher stiffens a bit in surprise. “You don’t… want to go back to your bed?”

“Mmm… It’d be nice, but… Don’t wanna move.” Bluhen mumbles. Herrscher smiles. He really is kind of lazy… Well. If this was all alright by him, then… He supposed they were staying here until Bluhen woke up. He carefully brushes Bluhen’s hair out of his eyes. He found it admirable that he could be so peaceful. (he wishes he could be as happy as his brother, as well.)

 

* * *

 

Judging by the fact he wakes up later, he guesses he must have fallen asleep as well. He doesn't know how long he slept for. However, finding out would require moving Bluhen, and considering the fact they had at some point moved to where Herrscher was leaned against the armrest and Bluhen’s head rested against his chest, that wasn't happening. Taking a look at him, his cheek was mushed against his chest. He looks so… tranquil. Herrscher finds himself wondering if he's alright lately. He never did show his emotions wellーno, no, that wasn't right. Herrscher was the one bad at that. Bluhen was wonderful at itーand just as skilled at hiding the ones he didn't want others to see. He knew that if Bluhen was in a bad place, he wouldn't ever tell anyone, maybe not even if he wasn't safe.

(but bluhen was stronger than he was. bluhen wasn't so weak as to be unsafe because of his own head.) He wonders if it would upset him to ask. He could never tell how his words would affect people.

In any case, he should probably wake him. Whatever time it is, it's probably later than he needs to be sleeping. He tries to do so by gently poking his cheeks. Bluhen eventually comes to life, giggling lightly upon realizing what was happening.

“What was that?”

“Waking you up.”

Bluhen hums, sits himself up. “Oh, sorry. I didn't mean toー”

Herrscher shakes his head. Bluhen's smile turns soft. “Oh, shoot, you asked about breakfast but Iーoh!” he gasps and jerks upright. Herrscher starts to say it's fine, he doesn't need to worry about it, then remembers how upset he'd likely be if Herrscher didn't eat. He relents, for now. Bluhen gets up and makes his way into the kitchen, seemingly uncaring of the world around him now. Herrscher watches for a moment before following him with heavy steps.

He finds Bluhen pouting. Herrscher makes a soft noise of questioning, and he turns to look his way.

“Ah, it's just… He used the coffee machine, but there's a lot left… And I don't drink it. So I don't know what to do with the rest…” His shoulders droop as he sighs. “Oh well. I don't know if he'll be back, so I guess I'll have to live with wasting some this time.”

Come to think of it, he didn't drink what he made before… Or did he take it with him? Either way, how rude. Bluhen sets about cleaning up and getting things out. Herrscher suddenly feels a bit awkward not knowing what to do with himself.

Thank god for Bluhen and his intuition. “Oh, I only just realized he left without staying to eat… Ah, I guess it can't be helped.” Herrscher refrains from commenting on what a rude, stuck-up prick Richter is, in favor of not upsetting Bluhen. “Speaking of... Did Richter… talk to you at all?” ...Nevermind. Herrscher doesn't like his intuition anymore.

But he can't lie to Bluhen. “...Yes.”

“Was he as… rude as he was when I woke up?”

“No.”

“Oh, that's good,” accompanied by the clattering of a pan on the stove, “I won't pry as to what you talked about. I'm just glad to hear you two aren't _always_ at each other's throats.”

Herrscher can't see his face. (he wouldn't be able to read it anyway if he could, but it still disconcerts him.) His voice sounds odd in a way he can't place. The room soon fills with the sound and smell of cooking. It always felt comforting to Herrscher. A feeling like home and being taken care of, and entirely welcome to him. Even if he wouldn't admit it.

Though the unfamiliar tone of Bluhen's voice still worried him. Maybe he could ask now…?

“...Bluhen.”

“Hmm?” He stays with his back turned.

“...Are you…” Suddenly his throat felt as if filled with clay. What was it about asking that was so difficult?

“Huh? Am I what?” Bluhen glances over to him before quickly returning to the stove.

“...I'm… worried.”

“Ooh…” Bluhen pauses for a few moments, then, “Hold on a minute.” With that, he tries to get everything settled and onto plates. It takes a few minutes, but when it's dealt with, he sighs softly. “Will you come eat with me?”

Herrscher nods. “Thank you,” Bluhen beams. He scoops up the plates he arranged and moves with them to the table in the dining room. Herrscher still feels unsure of what to do with himself.

Once they settle down, Bluhen starts to speak. “Okay. First of all, don't you worry about me, okay?” Herrscher starts to object, but he continues, “I'm fine, okay? I would tell you if something was wrong.”

Herrscher takes a moment to gather the words he needs. “...You wouldn't.”

Bluhen cocks his head. “Huh?”

“You don't. Haven't. You never do.”

“Herr… That's not… It's because it's never real problems! I just, y'know, sometimes it's justーa lot. And it's overwhelming. That's really all.”

Herrscher knows he's lying. He doesn't know if he's aware of it. “...That's not true. You don't tell us about anything until it's bad enough that it’s impossible not to notice.” His words are slow. He at least appreciates how Bluhen lets him find his way through his words like he needs to. “You don't tell anyone that you're being overloaded until you've curled up in a ball on the floor, to name a minor example.”

“That's…” Bluhen sighs. His cheek comes to rest against his hand. “No one needs to deal with my things. So it's okay.”

“...It's… not. You wouldn't… ever let _me_ say that.”

Bluhen runs his hand over his face. “...Alright. I guess you're right about that… ...I'm sorry.”

Herrscher simply shakes his head. Bluhen always understands. He would also likely be able to tell that speaking this much is tiring for him. Bluhen leans over and takes Herrscher’s hand in his own. “If you're worried about how I'm feeling… I promise I really am fine. Maybe a bit tired, but I'm okay.”

“...Promise.”

Bluhen laughs softly. He links their pinkies together and shakes their hands. “There.”

Herrscher finds himself blushing. He knows no one else was around to see it, but it was still embarrassing for Bluhen to have him do something like they would've as children…

“And what about you? You don't exactly tell anyone how you're feeling, either.”

Herrscher feels a bit of dread sink through his chest. Of course he would flip the script on him… He should've expected this. Perhaps he should be a little worried about it, wondering if Bluhen was doing this just so that they wouldn't be talking about him anymore, butーAh, well. “...I'm alright.”

“Is that the truth?”

“...Of course.”

Bluhen’s face scrunches up. “No, it's not, I can tell.” He squeezes Herrscher’s hand. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Of course he can. Bluhen is the only person he can tell _anything_.

Now, though, he doesn't want to. He knows Bluhen will just worry. Ah… He can't lie to him.

“...I know. It's never… really… _good_ , but… it's not the worst it could be. I'm not going to hurt myself. Don't worry about it.”

Bluhen gently clasps his other hand around Herrscher's. “Promise?”

Herrscher nods subtly. “I stopped doing that ages ago.” (maybe he had simply replaced it with starving himself, or not getting out of bed for three days at a time, but… it was better. it had to be.) “I don't plan to go back.”

Bluhen squeezes his hand again. “That's good. You promised you'll tell me if you're upset, too, just now.”

Herrscher raises an eyebrow, amused. “I did.”

Bluhen nods firmly. “Yes, you did. And I expect you to keep it.”

Herrscher almost laughs at how determined he is. He's a bit like a child. He never has really changed since he was one. “Alright.”

“Great! Then will you eat with me now?”

Herrscher nods. He's always happy to see Bluhen’s smile. This time is no exception. (and, of course, his cooking was always goodーbut the look on his face was much better.)


	5. twelve (he, ri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sensory overload

Maybe it was a mistake for them to wait for Bluhen at the store instead of at home.

Herrscher had not brought his noise cancellers, as he had thought he might need to hear people (bluhen) in a situation like this. He quickly regretted it.

There were so many _people_. Richter at the very least seemed bothered by it as well, but he isn't showing any visible signs of being overwhelmed. (he had a day job, of course he's better about peopleーor at least better at hiding if he isn't.) They were all _noisy_ and their voices were grating but they wanted to talk to him and sell him things and there was too _much_. Richter dispelled all of them with his firm authoritative air and a few choice words. It could be worse. For once, being around Richter was making things better. So why was he still so overwhelmed?

He feels he's being silly. He should calm down. They were just sitting at a bench in a mall. That's not a big deal. It _shouldn't be_ a big deal. He closes his eyes and focuses on taking deep breaths.

He can't seem to stop it, though. He knows he's shaking, but not much else. The lights are too bright and his breath is too short and it’s too _loud. Why didn't he bring his headphones? Why didn't he bring hisー_

He hears someone talking near him, though he’s not sure who. It’s not a voice he recognizes. Soon after, someone’s hand is on him. His first instinct is to hit them in his panicked state, but they catch his wrist in their hand as if they knew he’d try that. He lifts his head up from staring holes into the floor to see that it’s Richter. He’s fairly certain this is closer than he’s been in ages.

It's only a moment before he's settled closer to him. He wraps his arm around Herrscher’s shoulder, and in this moment, Herrscher can't bring himself to care enough to resist the urge to bury his head in the other's chest. Richter feels warm and comfortable. He feels _safe_. His other arm joins and pulls him into an embrace.

The voice from before is making itself known again. He still can't focus on it enough to make it out. He feels the hum of Richter’s voice in his chest, though.

“Leave us alone. We're fine. We don't need anyone patronizing us.”

...Were they insulting him…? Richter’s tone is annoyed. He must be causing a scene. Ah, how terrible. The voice is too noisy. He doesn't like it. He wishes they'd stop talking.

“I told you, weー” Richter is interrupted, and at the same time Herrscher feels someone touch his back. He _hates_ it, but he doesn't have time to react more than a jolt before Richter's yanked their hand away from him.

“Do you think this is a joke? Get out of my fucking sight before I make you regret ever stepping into it.” Richter’s voice is dark and deep. Herrscher feels deja vu, but his mind is too chaotic to gather why. He doesn't hear the voice again. (he didn’t know richter still swore.)

Richter gently pets his hair, tilting Herrscher’s head just enough that he can speak clearly. “Let's go somewhere else. Are you okay to get up?”

Perhaps if Herrscher’s mind was in the right place, he'd question Richter's sudden kindness. But it isn't, and he simply nods, not letting go of Richter's shirt.

He's not sure where they end up. He knows that it's quieter, though, and Richter lets him be held again when they get there. It takes a long time before his iron grip on the other's shirt lets up, and longer before the lights stop feeling like fire.

When they do, and Herrscher can think again, he slowly removes himself from Richter's embrace. He feels… very stupid. He should've known he wouldn't be able to handle it. And now Richter had to save him. How pathetic.

...It wasn't good to think of his meltdowns that way. He knows this, and tries to remind himself of it. (imagines bluhen telling him, and feels guilty enough to take the advice.)

Richter has yet to speak. Herrscher decides, for once, that he'll take initiative.

“Why did you do that?”

Richter takes a breath. After a long pause, he says, “I'm the oldest. I should take care of you both. It's my responsibility.”

“The threatening wasn't necessary.”

Richter avoids his gaze. “...I didn't like how they were talking about you.”

Herrscher feels more confused by the second. He thought Richter still hated his guts. Maybe he still did. Was this what he meant by putting aside their differences…?

His thoughts are interrupted by Richter sighing. “...Just because we've… drifted further apart… It doesn’t mean you're not still my brother.”

Herrscher isn't sure what to say.

He settles on “Of course.”

Because he doesn't know _what_ he thinks. What he's _supposed_ to think. For years, it's felt like Richterーand, truthfully, everyone except Bluhenーhated him. Like they all looked down on him with disdain simply because he couldn't be a perfect pure child like Richter, or happy and outgoing like Bluhen. But now, when Richter protected him like he always had before, a clear sign of true caring and compassionー

What was he supposed to think?

“Are you alright now?” asks Richter.

Herrscher nods. Richter at least seems satisfied with that.

...Oh, he remembers now. Why Richter’s tone felt so familiar.

He's done this before. He always has been the one who could handle himself in public best. (as long as no one touched him or his things.)

There was a time, he remembered, now, before they had found out that Bluhen does poorly with lots of noise, and Richter's hair and temper were shorter. (though he couldn't remember where they actually were. a mall, like this one…? no, a restaurant?) Bluhen had begun stuttering, and they both had noticed him becoming visibly more anxious, but neither of them had known he wouldn't be able to handle it.

They quickly realized once Bluhen crumpled to the floor under the table with his hands over his ears. He had started crying, whimpering despite trying his best to keep quiet. They both instantly recognized it, and Richter flocked to him to try to help. Herrscher, however, in a way he still hates about himself, had frozen, unable to do anything he was thinking of. Bluhen was attracting attention. They had expected thisーit almost always happened.

This time, though… Richter had taken Bluhen into his arms to muffle the noise and soothe him. It only made all of them look even more odd, but Richter didn't seem to care at all. Someone had approachedーtheir voice in that tone that Herrscher hates so much. He doesn't remember what they said, nor what Richter had shot back, but he remembers the same glare he had a moment ago.

He _had_ always been protective of them.

After a moment, Bluhen can stand up again, and Richter takes him somewhere quiet. (he stays in richter’s arms, though, and once they settle down goes right back to crying into his chest again.) Richter is so patient. He shushes Bluhen as he strokes his hair, and keeps him close until he calms down. Herrscher finds himself frustrated wishing he could be as helpful.

But it couldn't be helped, could it? Herrscher was an unhelpful person. (unnecessary. unneeded.)

“I'll tell Bluhen what happened. You left your headphones at his home, yes?”

Herrscher nods subtly. They wouldn't usually be there, but they _had_ come here from Bluhen’s home. (he had said to go on without him, because he still needed to get ready and didn't want to keep them waiting. he hadn't seemed to realize that both of them were completely out of their elements in a place like this without him.)

“Alright. I'll ask him to bring them if he's still there.”

Herrscher feels not quite real. “...Thank you.”

Richter blinks. He almost seems to not know how to respond, before he follows with an “It's nothing.”

It almost certainly wasn’t nothing. Herrscher had a lot to think about. He already wanted to go home.


	6. one (le, la, lw)

“Exie, are you gonna be okay?” he asks, as if that's something Executor will be able to answer. (but he doesn't know that.)

“...I'll be fine.” he says. His false certainty seems to work on Anpassen, as his grip around Executor's shoulders relaxes a bit. He stays keeping them close together, though, and Executor stays with tears welling in his eyes.

They were getting older, and Executor was getting shakier. He was finding that everything was scary, and Ishmael wouldn't always be there to protect him, and that was the scariest thing of all.

“Don't call me that nickname.” He tries to sound stern, but his voice is too small and too weak. Anpassen relents anyway.

“...Okay.” After a pause, “Do you wanna go see Wanderer?” 

Executor blinks. “...That sounds okay.” He doesn't understand why Anpassen offered to visit their shared brother, but he supposes he did always feel a bit better after talking to the two of them. He rubs at his eyes to dispel the tears. “Let's go.”

 

* * *

 

Wanderer is wearing long sleeves and gloves, which is new. Anpassen says they're cute, then asks what the occasion is. Executor observes intently as Wanderer fidgets with the hem of his sleeves in response.

“...I think I'm sick, o-or something. Ishmael said I should wear these.”

“Oh no!” Anpassen cries. “Is it contagious? Are you gonna die?!” 

Wanderer squeaks. “I-I don't think so! At least I hope not…!”

“What are you two talking about?” Executor interrupts. He could barely hear Wanderer anyway, with how he always mumbled. 

“I think Wander's cursed or something!” Anpassen chirps. Wanderer follows this with an immediate  _ noooo _ and Anpassen looks genuinely confused. At the very least, though, Anpassen’s lax attitude appears to make Wanderer a bit more cheery… If he really was sick, and it was making him that upset, then they should try to cheer him up.

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” asks Anpassen.

Wanderer shakes his head. “N-No… Everywhere's too loud. And I don't have my cancellers...” 

“Okay. We can just stay right here, then.” With this, Anpassen plops himself down next to Wanderer. “Do you want to hear the song we learned in choir? I think you couldn't come, right?”

Wanderer nods. “Yes… They wanted to look at my arm, so they didn't let me go.” 

Anpassen pouts. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“No… It doesn't.” Executor pipes up. 

“I-It's really okay… I don't mind. I'm not good at singing anyway.”

“That's not true!” says Anpassen. “Here, try singing with me when I sing the new song.”

And so Anpassen clears his throat and begins to sing. He’s naturally talented, the best out of the three of them, and to top it off,  he probably has no idea. The song they had been taught was likely a hymnーa new word Executor had learned from the big bible-looking books in the store rooms. He liked choirーsinging for Ishmael made him happy, even if he wasn't as good at it as Anpassen. 

That being said, Wanderer is better at it than he gives himself credit for. He has a low, soft voice that makes the hymns he sings sound truly angelic. (truthfully, executor is a bit jealous.) He follows along with Anpassen, and they make a wonderful harmony, as always.

Executor tells them this. Anpassen giggles and rubs the back of his neck. Wanderer shrinks, looking down at his hands fidgeting in his lap. He's gotten more shy and anxious, recently. Executor knows he shouldn't be worried, but… Ah. He shouldn't think on it too much. 

At the very least, when Anpassen continues to ramble on about everything Wanderer missed in their classes, Wanderer seems happy. It was an expression he sorely missed seeing in him. (though he wasn't sure if wanderer knew that. expressing himself was very difficult, especially when it came to emotions.) He wishes he could be as sunny as Anpassen. He wants to help in the way  _ he _ does, just by existing.

Ah. Everything was so confusing. Maybe he wasn't any good of a child after all, if he couldn't even help his brother.

He pulls his knees up to his chest and his arms on top of them, looking somewhat pouty. Anpassen stops chatting to look at him.

“Are you okay? You look kinda angry.”

Executor lifts his head up out of his arms. “...Angry…? ...I'm not angry.”

“Oh, okay, but you don't look  _ happy _ at all.”

“...There's a lot on my mind.”

Anpassen hums thoughtfully. “You should tell Wander about our lessons. You pay way better attention than me.”

Executor nods. “Alright.” 

At some point afterwards, Anpassen leaves (swearing he'll be back soon) to get food. Executor scoots closer to Wanderer and slings his bag in front of them. He fetches his notebook and asks Wanderer to repeat what he missed, and helps him make a copy of his notes for him to keep. It's nothing, really, at least not to himーbut Wanderer keeps thanking him and he doesn't know why. 

“You don't have to keep thanking me… It's nothing. I'd do this however much you needed.”

“I…” Wanderer fidgets with his hands again. “That means a lot to me, though. I'm… I'm sorry I missed and made you do this…”

Executor (albeit awkwardly) pats his back. “It's okay. Don't worry about it.” He doesn't understand why Wanderer seems to feel so guilty. 

Wanderer stares hard at his hands. “It just… It makes me happy when you're around… So I… I'm glad… is all…”

Executor blinks.

The concept of his presence making someone else happy is… foreign, to say the least. “...I'm glad. I'll be sure to be with you more often then.”

“...Really…?”

Executor nods. “As much as I can. I promise I'll stay with you.”

Wanderer lets himself lean on Executor's shoulder, albeit stiffly. “...Okay. Thank you.”

Executor hums. Anpassen soon returns with a small box of cookies that Executor recognizes to be Wanderer's favorite. He personally doesn't like them, dark chocolate was better to him than things that were excessively sweetーbut Anpassen probably got them to cheer Wanderer up. It wasn’t about him.

As expected, he lights up when he realizes what it is. Anpassen pushes it into his hands, and he clumsily takes it.

“I-I can't have all of these by myself… You two should have some too…!” 

Executor simply shakes his head. Anpassen giggles, “Aha, really? Alright!” and plucks one out once Wanderer's opened the box.

...They look happy. That was what mattered. Everything else…

Everything else was scary, frankly. Maybe he could live in this little moment forever, and the bandages on Wanderer's arm would just be an internal bruise, or some other big word Ishmael or the nurses said. Right now, that was possible, and he'd believe in that hope.

 

* * *

 

As much as he wills them to, the thoughts don't leave him even until that night. 

Was Ishmael strong enough to protect Wanderer as well? If he was getting so badly ill, was Executor next…? Would Ishmael be able to save either of them, if that happened?

Everything is so scary. He doesn't understand. He falls asleep hoping somewhere in his chest that everything would be okay when he woke up.


	7. six (ath, ee, ap)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is about a suicide attempt, mainly the aftermath. the attempt itself is not described, but is certainly talked about. if this would in any way be triggering for you please be careful reading or don't read at all...!

When Arme answers the phone, Erbluhen is frantic and sobbing.

He doesn’t have time to greet him or ask why he called before he starts. “Arme! Arme, I-I need you to come here. I need you to come here really really bad, it’s bad, it’s really bad, Armeー”

Arme seizes up. What happened that had him so distressed? “What’s going on, Erbluhen?”

“It’sーIt’s Apos, he won’tーhe’s notー” Erbluhen’s voice rises into another sob and he doesn’t continue.

“He’s not what? Erbluhen, what’s wrong?”

“I hadn’t heard from him all day, I tried to c-call him, but he wasn’t answeringーHe couldn’t have been asleep because he’s such a light sleeper that he always wakes up when I call, so I got really worried, and when I got here his door was lockedー”

“Erbluhen, slow down. don’t tell me the story, tell me what’s happening right now.” He still wasn’t sure what had happened, but Erbluhen was panicked enough that Arme was already heading out the door to drive to Apostasia’s apartment. At least now he knew that was where they both were.

He hears Erbluhen take a shaky breath on the other side of the line. “I… I think he took something. He’s not waking up. I-I’m really scared. I don’t know what to do, Arme, I don’t know what to _do_ ー” His voice is getting frantic and rushed again.

“Breathe,” says Arme, as if he can’t feel his heart pounding in his throat. “stay calm. So he’s unconscious?” He asks, hoping his voice is clear through the sound of him near slamming his car door shut.

“I think so…”

“Can you check his pulse for me?”

“W-wrist, right?”

“Yes, that works.”

There’s a pause that Arme feels stretches over minutes filled with nothing but his heartbeat. Erbluhen eventually responds. “I think so… It feels maybe a little slow, I-I don’t know, but… It’s definitely there…”

“That’s a good sign. Just stay with him, okay?”

He hears Erbluhen sniffle. “Okay…”

“I’m going to hang up so I can focus on driving. Will you be okay?”

“I-I’m fine. Just, g-get here fast, okay?”

“I promise. I’ll see you in a moment.” He hangs up after he hears Erbluhen make a noise of affirmation. He doesn’t feel any better.

He had registered it was serious before, but… It hadn’t felt real. It hadn’t felt like something that could actually _happen_. His hands feel clammy in his gloves. He’s in such a daze that he’s not actually sure how long it takes for him to get there. (or how well he may or may not have obeyed traffic laws, but he doesn't care right now.)

The door is still unlocked, thankfully. (though he does make sure to take Erbluhen’s dropped key and lock it behind him.) He finds his brothers by the sound of Erbluhen’s crying, and the fact that the door to Apostasia’s room is still wide open (and, he notes, the doorknob looks slightly wrecked. he supposes it will have to be replaced.)

“Is he still alright?” is the first thing he says upon the two of them coming into his line of sight.

“He’s still breathing, if that’s what you mean…” Erbluhen answers weakly while Arme sits next to him in Apostasia’s bed.

Arme hums, brow knit tight. Upon touching Apostasia’s skin, he wasn’t cold, he certainly was breathing fine and his pulse was there, albeit slow like Erbluhen had guessed. He just… wasn’t waking up. Had he drugged himself into some kind of coma…?

The realization hits Arme like a kick in the ribs. He didn’t know when Apostasia was going to wake up.

“...Should we take him to the emergency room?” When Erbluhen’s voice comes, it sounds too small.

Arme worries his lip. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t like not having a firm answer for him at all. “...No, I don’t think so. They’d likely do things like pump his stomach and take him to a mental hospital afterwards, and he would hate all of it and come out worse for it. Just…” He didn’t know what. His eyes feel glazed over. He strokes his sleeping (he would think of it as that to maintain his mental state) brother’s hair. “It’ll be alright.”

Erbluhen is still crying, but at least he’s breathing better and coherent now. Arme finds himself wishing he could cry as well.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t. He doesn’t know how he can keep his cool like this. He doesn’t know if he likes that he is.

 

* * *

 

It's two and a half days after Erbluhen finds him before Apostasia regains consciousness. At one point, he seems to wake up, but is largely unresponsive and lapses back into unconsciousness shortly after, which makes Erbluhen start bawling again. Arme and Erbluhen had wordlessly agreed to stay at his home until he woke up. There was no way they were leaving him alone like this.

They end up having to buy groceries to stock his kitchen with, because as it turns out there was practically nothing there. (which shouldn't have been surprising, considering his physical state, but ended up being so nonetheless.) Erbluhen says, while trying not to cry in a way that makes Arme's heart ache, that as soon as he wakes up they're going to make him dinner. Arme nods wordlessly. It was the least they could do, wasn't it?

Erbluhen stays in Apostasia’s room, for the most part. His excuse is that he has to keep an eye on him and his pulse, but… Arme knows better. He knows how emotional his brother is, and how terrified he must be. At least Arme could emotionally detach himself (albeit briefly) to tackle things logically and without panicking. Erbluhen was very different, in that seemingly every action he took was loaded with some kind of feeling.

He knows it's better if he lets him stay there. He doesn't know why he doesn't join him.

When Apostasia regains consciousness, he stays asleep for a while and in bed for even longer. He doesn't respond to anything (even erbluhen, which shocks arme a bit) and refuses to get up.

Honestly, Arme doesn't blame him.

They (meaning erbluhen) finally get him out of bed and up long enough to eat. He shakes terribly and can barely stand up, likely from going so long without moving or eating. He still stays perfectly silent. It's almost unnerving how he simply lets them do whatever they need to. It's like he has no feelings about any of it whatsoever. Arme finds he would prefer even if he fought it to this complete apathy.

They don't try to get what he took out of him. They at least know better than to prod him with questions like that so soon. The same goes for anything like ‘why’ーbut that was partially because they both already knew that answer.

The day after he gets out of bed, he speaks. Arme feels a bit odd, eavesdropping on their conversation, but he knows Apostasia won't want to see him.

“...I'm sorry, Erblu.” His voice sounds weak and hoarse. It hurts.

“No! No, don't be sorry! If anything, I should be sorryーIーI wasn't there for youー”

“Stop it. You're there for me more than anyone else. It just…” And Apostasia trails off, and Arme feels guilt tug at his conscience. ( _he_ should've been there. _he_ should've shown that he cared.)

The sound of Erbluhen sniffling and starting to cry again. “I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Apos…”

He hears nothing from Apostasia, but from how Erbluhen's cries become muffled, he must be hugging the other. Arme decides it's best to leave them alone.

 

* * *

 

Luckily, Apostasia hadn't made himself sickーor if he had, he slept it off. He eats normally (and likely better than he has in ages, since the other two were around) and sleeps well. Everything seems to be fine. Life could resume as normal.

Erbluhen says (or rather states) over the kitchen table that from now on, he and Apostasia live together. Apostasia cocks an eyebrow at him.

“So I can look after you. And so I can cook for you and always make sure you're happy and have food and plenty of love!”

Arme thinks he sees Apostasia smile, just slightly. Erbluhen's determination really was special.

“You talk about me like I'm a stray cat.”

“That's not the point!”

“Then what _is_ the point?”

“That I'm never letting you be all alone again!”

Apostasia doesn't answer. His gaze lingers on Erbluhen's face for just a moment before it hangs over the table. Arme can't read his expression. He never can, but it seems bad, this time. Maybe there's nothing there to read.

“...Alright.” Apostasia doesn't look up.

Arme's mind wanders to what they'll do with the apartment. He supposes they'll just move him out, and Apostasia will then stay at Erbluhen's home. (honestly, he doesn't know why he and erbluhen live apart. he wouldn't mind living together with him as well, but something in the back of his head says he shouldn't.) The door, though… The landlord would probably demand they pay for it. That was fine. Arme would take care of it.

(if he couldn't be the emotional support his family needed, maybe he could be the financial support. or something. if he was useful, that was all he needed.)

When he comes back to the present, Erbluhen is in front of him, staring him dead in the eyes. He blinks.

“...Yes?”

“You seem all spaced out. Are you okay?”

Ah… “That's not important.”

Erbluhen pouts, but concedes nonetheless. “Alright.

Oh, Apos, I know you don't like changing places so suddenly, so, do you wanna stay at my place for a while before you actually move out? So you can come back here whenever you want.”

Apostasia gives a noncommittal hum. “...Maybe. If you think it's best.”

“It's not about what _I_ think is best, it's about what _you_ want to do.”

Apostasia takes a moment to respond, this time. “...Okay. My answer's still the same, though.”

 

* * *

 

“...Apostasia.”

Apostasia merely hums at his entrance. Arme swallows hard.

“If you're comfortable… Why did youー”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“...Alright, I understand. I'm sorry.”

“Stop telling me you're sorry. I don't want to hear it. Just…” Apostasia appears perhaps not entirely present. (arme wants to help. he's never known how.)

“What can I do?” he asks. A desperate plea, though he hopes his voice doesn't show it.

Apostasia stares directly ahead. Arme feels more anxious by the second. “...I don't know.” A pause. “You can't fix my fucked up head. I know you don't want to, anyway. So don't worry about it.”

Arme feels his heart twist. Had he truly been acting that apathetic…? Did Apostasia think he didn't care about him at all? He starts to say, ‘That's not true,’ anything, he doesn't actually _know_ what he wants to say, and all of it rots in his throat.

“I want to help.” comes out anyway. “I… I know you don't want to hear it. But I am sorry. For… for not being a good brother.”

Apostasia sets the glass in his hand down, stares into the contents of it. “...You don't have to be. I wish… maybe… you'd been there more. Before. When I was younger. But you don't owe me anything. I don't owe _you_ anything.” He adds the last part with an emphasis perhaps Arme imagines, but hits him hard either way.

“...I can be here now. If you'd like me to.” He doesn't like how weak his voice sounds.

“I don't care either way. Do what you want.” Apostasia takes a long drink, and the pause leaves Arme drowning in his thoughts.

“I want you to be okay, above all.”

“Mm.” Apostasia waves his hand. “I'll be fine. It doesn't matter. I always am.”

_‘It's not fine. Of course it's not. You're in danger.’_

“Promise me.”

Apostasia gives him a funny look. “...Promise.”

“Yes.”

Apostasia keeps staring at him in the way Arme can't read for what feels like a very long time. “...Fine. I promise.”

Arme tries to smile. “I'm glad.” He feels his heart lurch in the way it does when he’s anxious. “You… You can come to me for anything you need. Okay?”

“...Okay.” Arme still can't read his face, but it doesn't make him uneasy anymore.

He doesn't know if a silly promise would actually help. He doesn't know if Apostasia would ever actually come to him, or Erbluhen for that matter, if he needed help. He doesn't know anything, and it scares him.

He doesn't know what to do. He hasn't felt this uncertain in a long time. He doesn't know how to fix that.

He only knows he can hope for the best. That he can do the best he can with what he's got. He can't fix anything. (he never could.)

But maybe he can help make things better. (it’s his responsibility, as the oldest, after all.)


	8. ? (ee, ap)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> erbluhen's bad day. really pointless drabble

Erbluhen is nowhere to be found. Which is odd, because Erbluhen's presence is loud and vivid, so if he was in the house, Apostasia is one-hundred percent certain he would know it. And he knows Erbluhen's here.

He just can't _find_ him.

But the door to his room is shut, which is also odd, so he knocks.

He gets a muffled grumble and the sound of sheets being moved in response. Well, at least he found him.

The door isn't locked, so he opens it and steps inside.

“Go away.” Erbluhen's voice is barely audible behind the blanket.

“Really?”

“......No.”

Apostasia turns the lights on, which gets an immediate whine of “Nooo, turn those back off,” which he does. It's only the afternoon, in any case, and the sunlight seeping in through his blinds is enough to keep the room bright. Apostasia comes to sit on his bed with him.

“What do you waaant…”

“I was looking for you.”

“And you found me. Is that all you needed?”

“...I'm worried, now.”

“I'm fine. I'm never _not_ fine.” It’s accompanied by an exaggerated disbelieving scoff. Maybe there’s a bit of spite in it, as well.

“It doesn't seem like it.” Apostasia's voice comes soft and quiet, and he pulls his legs up onto the bed. Erbluhen pulls the weighted blanket up over his head. Apostasia wants to pull it back down, but he knows Erbluhen probably wouldn't like that.

“I don't care what it _seems_ like. I'm fine. Really.”

“Then let me see your face.”

“...No.”

“Why not?”

“Just leave it alone…”

“...You wouldn’t leave it alone for me.”

To this, Erbluhen grumbles again under the blanket, tries to shrink further into it. “Where are you. Apos.”

Apostasia rests his hand in front of where (he thinks) Erbluhen’s face is, and soon after Erbluhen’s own comes out to take it.

It then yanks him down into the bed with him.

He doesn’t really mind, but he would’ve appreciated some warning, at least. Regardless, he pushes away from Erbluhen for just long enough to tuck himself under the blanket as well, and is promptly gripped tightly by the other.

“You let me be all alone all day.” The way he says it, he probably means for it to have some kind of sting behind it, but there’s none there.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were upset.”

“I’m _not_ upset.” He feels Erbluhen nose into his back. “I’m just…”

Apostasia waits. He knows sometimes it’s difficult for Erbluhen to get his words together.

Nothing comes.

“Are you okay now?” he asks.

Nothing comes.

“Erblu.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“But are you _okay_?”

Erbluhen doesn’t answer, only squeezes him tighter. He hears him sniffle. So his suspicions were correct.

“You’ve been crying.” More of a statement than a question.

“Was not.”

“But you were, and I think you still are.”

“...You don’t have any proof.” More muffled now, shoving his face further into Apostasia’s back.

“Why were you crying?”

“No reason. Don't worry about it.”

“So you _were_ crying.”

Apostasia gets a thump on the arm, but it's too weak to hurt or anything and there's no real malice behind it.

“What was wrong?”

“Nothing. I mean it.”

“Crying for no reason, then.”

Erbluhen fidgets. Shrinks. “Not _no reason_ , I just… you know… I didn't feel good…”

And Apostasia does know. “Next time… tell me, instead of holing up in your room.”

Erbluhen blows a raspberry at him from behind his back. “You're one to talk.”

But Apostasia has exhausted himself from talking, so he doesn't retort. He knows Erbluhen is right, anyway. He doesn't really have room to talk in that regard, but… he does want Erbluhen to take better care of himself than he does himself. Erbluhen sighs into his back.

“I have to get up, huh.” he says. Apostasia hums. Erbluhen makes a long whine. “I don't wanna.”

“You should.”

“I _should_.” Erbluhen groans. “But…”

Apostasia waits.

“...I don’t want to be here.” Soft, mumbled. Like he feels he shouldn’t say it at all. Another long wait. The feeling of him shuffling deeper under the blanket. “I don’t wanna be anywhere.”

...Well… Maybe, “We can stay here for a bit longer.”

“...Okay. I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be.” Apostasia makes himself as soft as possible, which feels impossible, but maybe he can try. A moment that feels too long, “We can stay… until… you want to be somewhere again,” he says. Too slowly, to him, but Erbluhen doesn’t seem to mind. (he never does, which is a blessing he can never truly put into words how much he appreciates.)

“If you say it’s okay. Then… yeah. I don’t wanna be anywhere but right here. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“ _Ever_.”

Apostasia smiles, for the first time in a long while.


	9. ? (bl, he, ft. abysser)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bluhen gets drunk, ft. gratuitous tildes, and man, remember when i said this was gonna be gen?  
> on that same note though, this is like. debateably "canon." idk if i want it to be a real Thing but it was fun to write so it's here anyway HGSHGLH  
> anyway obvious cw for drinking and general drunkenness and tomfoolery. thanks

“I'm hooome~”

“It's one-thirty in the morning.”

“Mnn? Is it? Oh…” Bluhen collapses onto the couch next to Herrscher.

“Did you lock the door?”

“Huh?” 

Herrscher decides not to press it. “What were you doing?” From how Bluhen's breath smells like alcohol, he feels he already knows. 

“Ummm… I… kissed someone!”

Herrscher sputters.

“ _Who_?” 

Bluhen blinks. The pause scares Herrscher more than it should. “...Chevalier. Or Abysser? Umm, I can't tell those three apaaart…” 

Herrscher is fairly certain Chevalier is married. God, he hopes it was Abysser. “What did you drink?”

“...I'unno?”

Oh god.

“...Okay, then who gave it to you?”

“Abysser!” Bluhen flops onto Herrscher’s lap. He won't stop smiling. “I'm sleepyyy… Can I sleep here?”

“...Not yet. What's Abysser’s number?”

“...Uuhhh?” Bluhen blearily pats his pockets for his phone. He finds it in his hoodie, and scrolls through it for a moment before pushing a contact into Herrscher’s face. He takes the phone so he can actually read it.

...Actually, he'd just use Bluhen's phone to save the hassle. He taps the call button and waits.

Abysser barely gets out his “Hey, what're you calling me so soon for?”

“ _What_ did you do to my brother.”

“Oh.” And that would be the tone drop whenever anyone realizes it's him, not Bluhen. “I’m assuming you're one of the siblings he talks about so much. Pleasure to meet you, I guess? But, ahーDid something happen? I did give him a bit of wine, but he's an adult, I thought he could handle itーoh man, he did seem like kind of a lightweight, is he okay?”

Herrscher chooses to ignore Abysser's mentioning that Bluhen apparently talks about them a lot. “He says he kissed you.”

“...A-Ah.” Significantly quieter this time. A mutter of ‘he just right out and told him, huh…’ Then, “Y-Yes, he did.”

Herrscher doesn't respond, for a moment. He almost wishes he was face to face with the other man, just so he could feel the resting glare he knows he has. Maybe he can feel it over the phone line. That'd be great. “Why?”

“IーI don't know! I mean, IーI didn'tーhe just… got really close to me, and tried it, and I asked him of course if he actually was, like, _wanting_ thatー”

“Ooh! Are you talking to him now?” Bluhen chimes. He grins. “Hiii~ Abysserrr~”

Herrscher wishes he could make both of them just go to bed instantly and wipe the night's events. Unfortunately, Herrscher doesn't have time and space altering capabilities, but he _can_ chew out this stupid white-haired twink for getting his brother drunk. 

“I should've known.”

“...Should've known what?” Abysser sounds nervous. At least he has the decency to feel that way. 

“He sleeps in your shirts. They're definitely yours. He's not that long, and he doesn't like Phorus _that_ much.” 

“He… does?” Abysser whispers on the other side of the line. _Ugh_. 

“Nooo, I do like them! They're cute and squishy and his little plushies of them are really soft and nice to hugー” Herrscher makes the executive decision to gently put a hand over his brother's mouth. He doesn't even protest, just pouts.

“If you're trying to mack on my brother, you didn't have to get him drunk first.”

“That was _not_ my intentionー”

“Then what was?”

“I'm not some creep! I'd beat the shit out of anybody who _was_ trying to get him drunk for that. No, he's just my friend, and he wanted to come over. I was already drinking when he got here, and he wanted to try it, so I let him.”

“Why?”

“I'm going to reiterate that he's an adult.”

Herrscher pauses. Bluhen… _was_ actually older than him. 

He decides this point is irrelevant to the problem at hand and discards it.

“...Fine. But why would you let him kiss you?”

“Do you _have_ to ask me this, especially when he's apparently _right next to you_?” 

“Yes.”

An audible groan. “Nope. Not happening. Until you're alone, all you need to know is that he wanted to, so I let him. Really, that's all you need to know at all!”

Bluhen mumbles under Herrscher’s hand. He lifts it up to let him speak.

“I wanna go to beeed…” He sounds almost pitiful. Likely because he's whining a bit. Herrscher sighs.

“Fine. Don't think I'm done with you.”

“Oh! Goodnight Abysser!” 

Herrscher hangs up before anyone can say anything else and hands Bluhen back his phone.

“Did he say goodnight back?”

“...Yes.”

Bluhen smiles, eyes droopy. “That's nice… Where's my bed…?”

“This is your house, Bluhen.”

“It is!” He says, as if coming to some extravagant revelation. “So it's overー” Bluhen stands up suddenly and promptly trips. Herrscher manages to catch him before he falls and hits his head or something, at least.

Maybe it's best if Herrscher carries him. He hefts Bluhen up onto his shoulders as best he can, and Bluhen almost immediately wraps his arms around his neck and snuggles into his shoulder. He takes him the short distance to his bedroom, nudges the door open with his foot, and somewhat unceremoniously drops him onto his bed. Bluhen doesn't seem to care in the slightest, though.

...After a moment of watching Bluhen curl up on top of the sheets, he pulls his blankets over him. Bluhen hums and smiles happily. Herrscher thinks he should try and find one of his plushes so he'll have something to hold, thinks about how embarrassing that is, stops thinking about it.

He tells him goodnight, and makes to leave for his own room. He's not tiredーnever isーbut Bluhen can't sleep if the lights are on in the rest of the house, so he thinks he should try anyway.

That's before Bluhen gives a soft “Nooo… Don't gooo…” 

What was he supposed to do with that? Say no? 

He sits at the edge of the bed. “What do you need?”

“Jus’ stay here… I don't wanna sleep alone…”

...Right. Bluhen didn't like being alone most of the time, but… Of course.

“...Alright.” He awkwardly slips under the covers with him. Bluhen then nuzzles into his back and hugs him.

…He feels very embarrassed.

At least he has something to hold, now…

 

* * *

 

Bluhen makes quick work of inadvertently reminding him he forgot to get painkillers for him when he wakes up. Herrscher wakes up first, and when he gets out of bed, Bluhen yanks the sheets back over his head and groans loudly. 

Well. Maybe it was time for Herrscher to try making breakfast instead. 

...So he had gotten wine drunk, and apparently Bluhen got hangovers, and _how much does ‘a bit’ mean to Abysser, or is his brother just that much of a lightweight?_

He didn’t have time to think on it right this moment, though, because Bluhen’s pitiful-sounding whine from under his covers reminds him that he’s very vulnerable to migraines and cries when he’s in pain, and he really, really doesn’t want that.

Well, not the best start to the day, but… He could throttle Abysser in person for this later, so maybe it wasn’t all _that_ bad. He _definitely_ planned on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're curious, yes, chevalier is married like herrscher suspects he remembers, and it's to rage hearts. no, i will not shut up about ravenciel, ever


End file.
